


Won't You Come And Save Me

by Morbid_Hatter



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: But She Does Like to Cause Problems, Canon-Typical Violence, Elektra Doesn't Like To Share, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Matt has lost control of the situation, Vigilante Vladimir, Vladimir Ranskahov Lives, more to be added later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/pseuds/Morbid_Hatter
Summary: It's official, Matt has lost control of his life. Foggy and Karen aren't speaking to him; Nelson and Murdock has dissolved into nothing; and now it turns out that there's another vigilante roaming the streets of Hell's Kitchen.As if it was hard enough to keep Frank and Elektra under control, now he has to deal with a crazy, ex-mob boss Russian who has decided that he wants to switch sides. And how is he even alive?Matt just wants to fix what he ruined and Vladimir wants justice and redemption. Apparently this is now Matt's problem. Super.





	1. Chapter 1

Click.

“Fuck you. I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, you fuck!”

Click.

Silence. The sound of the hammer being pulled back into position again. Matt tilted his head slightly, poised to intervene if necessary. The cylinder was empty, as was the last one.

Click.

“You are running out of chances, _govnyuk_ ” a heavily accented voice said calmly, almost as if the gunman was bored with his situation.

Matt stood up out of his crouched position in the shadow of a water tower and shook his head in shock. He hadn’t heard much about the new vigilante haunting Hell’s Kitchen after dark, but what he had heard was nothing about his nationality.

_Russian._

“Fuck you!” the man facing the barrel of the revolver shouted again, but Matt could hear the waver in his voice and the accelerated heartbeat.

Click.

“Would you like for me to keep going?” the Russian taunted. “You have fifty-fifty chance.”

Instead of the click of the next chamber sliding into place, Matt heard the click of the criminals throat as he swallowed heavily. The Russian hummed as if he knew the man he was threatening was going to break just as Matt knew it.

“Nobu. What did he do?”

Nobu. That stopped Matt short. As far as he was aware, the Russians had no more dealings with Nobu once the leaders of the mob died. What did this one need Nobu for?

“I-I don’t know shit, man!”

Matt heard the man’s heart trip over the lie. It must have been apparent on his face too because no sooner had the lie stumbled past his lips than the trigger clicked over an empty chamber again. From what Matt knew, the pistol was an old school six-shooter revolver. The man had one last chance and Matt doubted very much that he would live even if he gave his assailant what he wanted.

He climbed down the fire escape as silently as he could so he didn’t alert the two men in the alley of his presence.

“Nice try, _mudak_. I ask again: what did Nobu do to me?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Matt, hanging from the last rung of the ladder with his feet several yards off the ground, stopped short. His own dealings with Elektra and the Hand were not pleasant and still made his wake up in a cold sweat when he thought about the people being kept for their blood and the drugs being pumped through them.

“He’s trying to - I dunno, cheat death? Man, it’s all some crazy voodoo shit. I swear, that’s all I know.”

Silently, Matt dropped to the ground and hid behind a dumpster. He rocked onto the balls of his feet to better position himself to spring into action should the need arise.

There was a quick crack of the butt of the six-shooter coming into contact with the skull of the man who had been interrogated. “Useless,” the Russian huffed angrily as the unconscious body slumped onto the cracked asphalt.

The Russian sighed heavily and started walking past Matt’s hiding place. Through his fiery vision, Matt recognized the figure of the man stalking past him. Once the burly Russian walked by and the familiar scent of expensive vodka and cheap cigarettes wafted around Matt he gasped. Even without the iron tang of blood woven into the scent it was enough to trigger the memory of explosions, gunshot wounds, and his escape through the underground tunnels assisted by a dying mob boss.

Matt cursed himself when the Russian stopped and turned to face him. “ _Sukin syn_ ,” Ranskahov spat out as he stalked over to Matt’s hiding place.

“Sorry. I still don’t speak asshole,” Matt taunted.

The ex-mob boss stopped in his tracks. “So, Man in Mask gets new suit. You look like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen now.”

Matt shook his head and allowed himself to ease out of the defensive crouch he had instinctively taken when the Russian noticed him. “They call me Daredevil now. Much more concise.” Matt took a small, cautious step towards the man in front of him so that he was no longer backed into a corner. “No offence, but how are you alive?”

“Is what I am trying to figure out,” he said as if Matt were being purposely obtuse. “After you left, I remember gun shots and then nothing. Not until I wake in box.”

“And you think Nobu had something to do with it? Why you? Again, no offence, but you didn’t seem like you were very important to their operation.” Matt felt his shoulders tense on reflex. He didn’t mean to put his foot in his mouth, but it the Russian ( _Ranskahov_ , he mentally added. _Vladimir, if I remember correctly_ ) automatically brought out his sass.

“ _Nyet_. Was not. Is why I want to know.” Ranskahov holstered his revolved and moved to pass Matt. “Until I know, you and I are on the same side.”

Matt turned to keep the Russian in front of him and was perplexed to note that their interaction seemed to be over. _What the hell?_ he thought before gunshots rang out through the oddly quiet streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt suppressed a groan; he was tired and wasn’t really in the mood to break up what was probably a messy turf war. But, such was the life of a lawyer moonlighting as a vigilante: fatigue was not an excuse to shirk his duties.

Much to his surprise, a second set of footsteps matched his pace as he rushed down the street to the commotion. “What are you doing?” he asked even as he pulled out his billy club and ignored how Ranskahov kept his empty revolved holstered and jumped into the fight armed with just his fists.

Crazy, psychotic Russian.

“Told you. You and I are on same side now,” Ranskahov replied as he managed to disarm several people without firing a shot.

_What is my life?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing is answered and Matt is very confused by recent events.

The shrill beep of his alarm clock pierced the relative silence of Matt’s apartment. He frowned and slammed his hand down on the snooze button to stop the noise that causing the throbbing headache behind his right eye to pound in tandem with the alarm.

Matt rolled over and went to bury his head under his pillow and ignore the world around him for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t like he had to go into work now that Nelson & Murdock was Nelson and Murdock separately.

It had been weeks now since he and Foggy had went their separate ways both personally and professionally. He put on a brave face every time he got a call to perform as a public defender to someone who couldn’t afford their own attorney; but while he was alone, he could admit that he was lonely. He missed his friends more than anything and would trade almost anything to get back the easy camaraderie the trio had built while establishing the firm.

It seemed his lies and secrecy had caught up with him. He could blame it on Catholic guilt, he was sure other people could keep secrets without feeling crippling guilt.

Matt groaned and rubbed his unseeing eyes to try and dissolve his growing headache. As he allowed his enhanced senses stretch and take in his surroundings. Refrigerator humming; pipes creaking as the couple in the apartment below him took a shared, hour-long shower; and a second thudding heartbeat coming from his living room.

Wait…

What the hell?

He jumped to his feet and immediately regretted it when his stomach swooped down to somewhere around his knees and he had to force himself not to throw up while his body fought through the pain and nausea.

He shook his head minutely and clenched his teeth to force back the pain so he could hurry into the large open area of his apartment.

“Your couch is shit,” Ranskahov said as Matt slid into the room.

“What are you doing here?” Matt asked shrilly, something he was going to pretend didn’t happen.

The Russian scoffed. “They hit you. Concussion.”

Matt stopped short and tried to wrap his brain around the heavily accented speech pattern. “Who hit me?” He didn’t care that he sounded dumb and repetitive; he couldn’t remember what happened and it was starting to worry him.

“They hit you. On the head. Gave you concussion” Ranskahov spoke slowly, annoyance and contempt lacing the awkward way he shaped words and sentences. “I stay to watch out for you.”

This was all said as if he was confused as to why Matt seemed shocked by this. “Forgive me for not getting it, but our previous interaction was not the most positive experience for either of us. Why would you care if I was okay or not?”

Ranskahov growled in frustration. “Told you before: I am on your side now.”

Matt decided to let it drop for the moment. He could figure out the Russian’s ulterior motives later; right now, he had to get dressed and be at the court house by 9. “Be that as it may,” he said instead of what he really wanted to say, “I need to be at work in an hour and I don’t trust you enough to let you stay here by yourself. So, thank you for your help, but you need to leave.”

“Fine,” the Russian replied stiffly. If Matt didn’t know any better, he would think Ranskahov was hurt. “Take Asprin and don’t go out alone tonight.”

Matt crossed his arms like a petulant child and stuck his nose in the air before he asked, “What? Should I wait for you?” with as much sass as he was able to put into the question.

“ _Da_. If you must go out, I will come back once it is dark.”

Matt didn’t bother responding and instead he carefully made his way to his bathroom where he kept one ear trained on the rest of his apartment so he could listen for when Ranskahov left. He could hear the Russian stomping around and muttering under his breath in his mother tongue. The normally harsh sounding language was laced with what seemed to be amusement and mild frustration.

Matt finally felt his headache receding and the muscles in his shoulders begin to loosen up under the hot spray; until, of course, there was a heavy tapping on his bathroom door and a voice calling “I made you coffee.” Matt sighed and rubbed a hand over his tense shoulder hoping to ease the returning pain before it could worsen.

Heavy footsteps made their way down the short hallway, paused by the stairs before ascending up and onto the landing. He could only just make out a whispered word before the door opened and closed again. Living in Hell’s Kitchen where immigrants made up a majority of the population, he was used to people speaking in their Mother Tongue when they didn’t want people to understand what they were saying; but when a large majority of those who didn’t often use English used spoke Spanish which he understood and spoke quite well (which was especially handy when most of the vocabulary of his profession was Latin which gives root to the Spanish language); he was not at all knowledgeable in the second-most spoken foreign language in Hell’s Kitchen.

_Maybe if he’s serious about switching sides I’ll attempt to learn Russian. Just to shut his smug face up_ , he thought viciously as he gave up on his shower.

After getting dressed, he followed his nose to his coffee pot. Matt ignored his surprise upon finding a cup already poured for him with room for cream or sugar if he needed it. Today, he decided, was a black coffee day. He took a sip and immediately spat it back out.

“What the hell was that?” he asked indignantly as he thumped the heavy ceramic cup down on his counter.

He wasn’t expecting the deep, scratchy laugh to sound through his door as if the ex-crime lord was standing on the opposite side of his door waiting for him to take a drink. “Asshole!” he called towards the laughter.

The laughing quieted down as Ranskahov finally made his way down the hallway and out of ear-shot. 

Matt shook his head and wondered when he had lost control of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Vladimir managed to kidnap a ninja? And Matt finds himself a participant in some interrogation in which the ninja keeps his secrets but Vlad can't.

Matt felt like a terrible person when he couldn’t keep his mind on what his client was saying. He rolled his latte between his hands to warm them up. After the joke coffee (made with salt, he was able to later figure out), Matt felt as if a cup of coffee was just what he needed to ease the ache in his head from the previous night’s activities.

He was also blaming the concussion for his lack of focus and steadfastly forcing any stray thoughts to the Russian who had obviously patched him up after the gang fight.

Matt listened to the fast pace of his clients heartbeat and knew the man across the table was lying to him. “Look,” he said, interrupting the rambling lies, “I know you’re lying. I can try and get you a deal if you agree to plead guilty but if you’re going to sit here and bullshit me, I can’t do anything for you.”

It was times like this when he missed having his own firm where they could pick and choose who they would represent. Being a public defender means taking whatever case was handed to him by the judge, and he had no patience for dealing with people and their constant need to lie for _no reason_.

After he finally managed to convince his client to plead guilty and finagle a bargain for him, Matt hurried out of the claustrophobically small room to the cool breeze outside of the court house. He inhaled the pungent aroma of trash, car exhaust and a hotdog cart across the street and felt his stress levels lower. Hell’s Kitchen was, no doubt, a mess; but it was, and always will be, home to the blind lawyer.

The cacophony of noises, smells, and general energy of the small section of New York filled him with a calm energy; like the eye of a hurricane. And like the center of a storm, he felt on edge even as his nerves calmed. This wasn’t the kind of anxiety and stress caused by his day-job. No, this was something more -- something on the horizon that tasted like copper and ozone and static.

Something was on the move and he had no idea what it was or who was behind it.

He wanted to check on Foggy and Karen but he knew his presence would probably cause more harm than good. In order to keep them safe and out of any danger, he needed to leave them alone until he could be sure that whatever threat was looming could be neutralized.

Instead of running to check on his friends he carefully made his way home while keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

Matt almost yelled in frustration when he was able to pick out a familiar heartbeat come up behind him and begin to keep pace with him. “You seem very on edge, _D’yavol_ ,” Ranskahov taunted. Underneath the taunt Matt could sense the same edge in the odd pace of the Russian’s heartbeat and the rigidity of his steps as he kept pace with his new ally.

“I thought I didn’t have to deal with you until tonight,” Matt complained but continued at his same pace and did little to shake his companion despite his protest.

He could hear the swift uptick of the already too fast tempo of Ranskahov’s heart. “I have small problem,” he finally confessed after several paces in awkward silence. Matt, catching the lie on ‘small’, just hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t verbalize a comment. “I may have kidnapped a ninja.” The strange upward inflection of the statement turned it into a question.

Despite himself, Matt felt his lip twitch into a half-smile. “How did you mange to kidnap a ninja?” Matt asked while trying to hide how impressed that statement made him (those damn ninjas were slippery and he owed them a few bruises). “And why is that my problem? You did put salt in my coffee like an _asshole_.”

He could almost hear Ranskahov pout. “It was joke,” the Russian complained. “Is not my fault you have stick up your ass.”

He refused to rise to the bait. _Don’t fight back. Don’t fight back. You are not a child. Don’t stoop to his level_ …”Just watch your back, Ranskahov,” he muttered back. “Coffee is a scared thing.”

While they were arguing (Matt refused to consider it banter - that was what friends did, not reluctant allies) they reached the front entrance of Matt’s apartment. “Irrelevant,” Ranskahov countered. “I need your help interrogating him. Is not my strong point.”

Feeling his headache start to come back, Matt frowned and turned so that he was facing the Russian. He figured the new vigilante had yet to notice his stick so he would do well to mask the fact that he couldn’t see in the conventional sense. He noticed the uncomfortable posture of the burly Russian as he leaned against the scratchy brownstone, and felt a stab of sympathy go through him. It was obvious he wasn’t used to asking for help.

He didn’t need to find any similarities between them. There was no need for any more questionable friends in his life (Elektra and Frank were more than enough to deal with without adding a possibly psychotic Russian ex-mobster to the mix). “Don’t you have any of your mob minions to help you? I don’t have time to take on your responsibilities as well as my own, Ranskahov.”

He ignored the full-body flinch from the Russian and turned towards his apartment door. “You got yourself into this mess. You can get yourself out of it too.” Upon hearing words better suited to coming out of his old mentor’s mouth than his own, he almost stopped to apologize. _Almost_. But he knew that adding on to his own growing list of problems wouldn’t do him any good in the long run.

Except, he reasoned, the guilt wouldn’t gnaw at him. He immediately felt a sharp stab of regret behind his ribs after he slammed the front door closed in the Russians face. The heavy door did little to hide the quiet response of “But I don’t” from reaching his sensitive ears.

He could feel the growing headache as his brain tried to use very convoluted logic while trying to decide whether to open the door again. On one hand, it was obvious that Ranshahov was trying to figure out what happened to him, and if he helped, it would get the Russian out of his hair faster. On the other hand, this was a mob boss who had no issues with killing people or selling people; he really didn’t _deserve_ any help.

But…the pang of sympathy began to grow. It was obvious that whatever the mobster’s reasons, he was cleaning up the city of petty criminals while trying to erase a much larger threat.

Matt felt his resolve crumble.

He opened the door quickly and stretched his senses to locate the Russian. “Ranskahov!” he called and hated himself for being a good person (and for being too curious for his own good. He’d never get the thought out of his head until he figured out why and how Ranskahov was alive).

The Russian’s heavy footsteps stopped and then started again as Ranskahov made his way back towards where Matt was standing with his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but: I’ll help you.”

“Excellent,” the Russian replied and clapped his hands together. “I have him chained up in empty building. I hit him on the head with wrench. He should still be unconscious.”

Matt groaned but followed his companion down the street by tuning into the distinct rhythm of his footsteps and heartbeat as he gruffly described his capture of the Hand ninja. Apparently he had gotten lucky and noticed he was being followed.

Something about the whole thing just didn’t sit right. It shouldn’t be easy as swinging a wrench around to incapacitate a ninja, no matter how lucky you were. When he brought that up to the Russian he could tell that this had already occurred to him. “No matter what you may think, I am not stupid. I know something is wrong. Is why I ask you for help.”

Matt nodded and kept an ear out for anything suspicious in the old building the Russian had guided him to. “It’s quiet,” he observed needlessly.

“ _Da_ , is why I need your help. He does not seem to want to talk. I hope you will be more persuasive. I am bad at negotiating. Better at forcing people.”

Matt hummed in agreement. As a lawyer he was at least mildly skilled at getting people to admit to the truth, as long as they were already talking. But he wasn’t sure how much help he would be if the prisoner (and that was a word he never imagined he would be associated with outside of his day job) was unwilling to speak at all. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said after the quiet and deceptively slow heartbeat of the man chained to a vertical support beam. “This definitely falls under Cruel and Unusual Punishment,” Matt muttered to himself even as he gently backhanded the silent but conscious man across the face to get his attention.

He tried asking the agreed upon questions that the duo had discussed while making their trek across Hell’s Kitchen. Ranskahov wanted to know all he could about what Nobu was planning and why he had woken up in a box and Matt planned on using any (legal) method of getting their guest to answer.

But it all seemed to be for naught; a repeat of the previous night in the alley when the man Ranskahov was threatening with a gun refused to answer. Matt felt his own frustration ratchet up as Ranskahov muttered under his breath in agitated Russian. “Enough,” he finally said in English as he flipped a knife out of his pocket.   
  
“Woah, woah!” Matt cautioned when he heard the quiet snik of the blade being released. “Don’t kill him!”

“Was not going to kill him. He does not need all his fingers to live.”

Despite himself, Matt choked on a laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

He cringed at the tearing sound as Ranskahov cut through the skin between the joint of his captive’s knuckle.

Even the loss of a digit didn’t make the bound man speak. He did little more than hiss in discomfort and snap his mouth closed around the sound as if even that was too much. “I don’t think it’s going to work,” Matt added unhelpfully. He found himself feeling bad that there was no information about the miraculous reappearance of the Russian.

Only a fraction of a second before the blade made contact with the ninja’s neck Matt grabbed Ranskahov by the wrist to stop him from stabbing the silent captive. “Vladimir! If you kill him, he’ll never tell you anything.”

“If I let him live he’ll run to his master like a good bitch!” the Russian spat while he tried to break Matt’s hold on his wrist. “They will leave Hell’s Kitchen and I will never know!” Under the anger coloring Ranskahov’s voice, Matt could sense the growing anxiety and hysteria creeping into the stilted and clipped words. A growl rumbled out of his chest as he pulled himself out of Matt’s grip and stalked away, muttering angrily under his breath.

Matt hesitated for a few moments on whether or not he should try to release the captive ninja before ultimately deciding to leave him chained up (at least until he could call in an anonymous tip on a burner phone). “Wait!” he called after his companion who was stomping away like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “Vladimir!” he called while he hurried to catch up. His dress shoes slid along on the damp concrete. He would have eaten the floor if it wasn’t for his excellent reflexes and his unwillingness to look like a fool in front of others.

Once outside the empty building Matt noticed Ranskahov had stopped to let him catch up. The Russian was leaning against the building and attempting to light a cigarette. His hands, Matt noted, were shaking so badly he couldn’t work his lighter.

Taking pity on Ranskahov, he stole the cigarette and lit it himself. He stole a hit before he handed it back over in the general direction of the burly Russian next to him. Even after several slow inhales off the cigarette, Ranskahov didn’t seem anywhere close to calm enough to figure out what to do next. He was speaking in rapid Russian in what sounded like disjointed thoughts and half-formed sentences.

“You need to slow down and we’ll figure out where to go next. This isn’t the end of the line, you know?” Matt hoped he sounding reassuring because he felt as far away from it as was humanly possibly.

“I should have killed him,” Ranskahov said around the filter held between his lips. “He knew nothing.”

Matt didn’t know how to answer that so he stayed silent and waited for the Russian to continue.

“Maybe I go to Gao. She hates Nobu. Thinks he is entitled dick.”

Matt nodded in agreement. “He also doesn’t fight fair. But why does it matter why or how he did it? You’re alive. Why should it matter?”

Ranskahov was silent for a long time until he flicked the cigarette butt into the gutter and exhaled harshly. “It matters.” The Russian pushed off the wall and started walking down the street after a defeated ‘I need drink.’

“Look,” Matt said after he caught up to Ranskahov and placed a calming hand on his shoulder, “I’m not one to discourage day drinking; but you really don’t need to be alone right now. You should call one of your friends.”

The Russian shrugged Matt’s hand off and started walking again but slower as if the fight was draining out of him. “I have no friends. Everyone is dead.” After a beat, he continued, “Is why I want to know.”

Matt was confused. “You want to know why you specifically or what his ultimate goal is?”

Ranskahov’s heart tripped over several beats before it began to steady again. “ _Nyet_. Not quite. I want to know why I can not fix it. I should not be alive. I do not deserve to be alive and yet, here I am.”

There was no lie in his words, but Matt knew it wasn’t quite the whole truth. “I’ll buy you a drink if you’ll tell me the truth.”

“Is not therapy session.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not a therapist.”

“No. You are lawyer who goes against the law at night. Ironic profession.”

Matt could tell Ranskahov was attempting to deflect the conversation away from himself. And while he would normally be slightly impressed with the attempt, he wasn’t going to be swayed into a new topic. “I’ll ignore your stalking tendencies for now and I’ll say it again: tell me the truth.”

A low and humorless laugh rumbled through Ranskahov’s chest. “I am not a good person. I know this. You know this. I do not deserve to be brought back, but I can not fix it.” Matt’s face must have shown his confusion because the Russian laughed again and continued as if telling someone was actually helping him. “I can’t die. I do not want to be here and I can not figure out how to just die! I accepted my death and now I live when my empire, my friends, my brother, _everything I have_ is gone.” Matt heard knuckles connect with a brick wall. “They are all gone and yet I linger.”

The laugh that had begun before the Russian had started to confess started up again. “I can not die, and yet I want nothing more.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Vladimir go drinking and planning. Some things are revealed and someone takes matters into their own hands.

Matt led Vladimir along to a hole in the wall bar that would be quiet and dark even during the mid-afternoon (he wouldn’t bring the Russian to Josie’s for fear of putting the bar in danger in case Ranskahov decided to switch sides again).

“This is shithole,” Ranskahov complained but walked by Matt and opened the door.

“You’re a bit of a priss, you know that?” Matt teased before he slipped through the open door before his companion could. He didn’t receive a verbal response; instead he felt a sharp elbow jab him in the ribs.

“Your rebuttal could use a little work.” “Am not a lawyer. I just hit people.” Matt felt a ghost of a smile curl the edge of his mouth. For whatever reason, he felt as though he could bond with the mad Russian the same way he did with Elektra and Frank: they were from totally different worlds and thought in totally different ways but they were similar enough to have a few things in common. It hurt to admit that, even in the safety of his own mind, but it was true all the same.

They ordered their drinks and wandered over to an empty table in the corner furthest from the door. Once the first drink of the day was consumed Matt settled back in his seat and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “So. Let’s figure out what you know and see if we can piece together an answer.”

***

_I may have made a mistake_ , Matt found himself thinking after sitting across from an equally competitive person for several hours. The Russian had begrudgingly told him what little he knew about is return from the dead, and after revealing that he could barely remember stumbling out of wherever he was being kept, he suggested drinking to forget the entire ordeal seemed like a better alternative than trying to remember what happened.

“I learned something new today,” Matt revealed with a slight slur. “I learned never to try and keep up with a Russian on a bender.”

“You are something, _mudak_.”

Matt frowned in confusion. “You know, you keep mispronouncing my name. And I’m almost positive I never told you my name to begin with. But anyway: it’s Murdock, not _mudak_ or however you say that.”

“I call you _mudak_ because is what you are, not your name.” Matt made a noise in confusion and gestured at the Russian to continue. “ _Mudak_ means….what is word? Asshole. I call you _mudak_ because you are an asshole.” Matt snorted inelegantly.

“That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black,” he countered with a nod. Silence followed his comment. “Sometimes I hate being blind,” he complained quietly before he realized that idioms didn’t translate well in other languages. “I meant: it takes one to know one. The only reason you can call me an asshole is because you’re an asshole too.”

It was still silent in their corner even after Matt explained himself. “Are you okay over there?”

“ _You’re blind_!?” Ranskahov half shrieked.

Matt was momentarily confused. He knew he had gone over his usual limit of alcohol but even then, something as simple as this shouldn’t be so confusing. “Yeah?” he answered although it came out more like a question than a statement.

Ranskahov started ranting in rapid-fire Russian. He didn’t seem angry, but apparently the pair of them weren’t good at noticing anything when the other was involved.

“English, Ranskahov.”

“Vladimir,” the Russian corrected automatically. “I have first name, nyet? You use it before. Why not again?”

_Huh. I didn’t realize I was doing that_. Matt shrugged and prodded Vladimir to order them another round. After the harsh scrape of the chair legs on the floor Matt heard the Russian mumbling something about getting his ass kicked by a blind man.

“So,” he said once Vladimir set down their respective drinks, “you don’t remember where you woke up.” Ranskahov agreed while sounding glum. “But,” he continued, mentally kicking himself for not coming to this conclusion earlier, “would you be able to recognize it if I brought you there? I was at something similar. Maybe it’ll jog your memory.”

Vladimir didn’t respond verbally but it didn’t stop his pulse from skyrocketing. It was then that Matt realized something that should have been obvious since the alley: the Russian was scared. It probably wasn’t the site that was scaring him, but the possibility for an answer to his question. In a fit of compassion Matt hurried to amend his statement. “Not right this minute. I don’t think I could get us there right now. Maybe soon though?”

“Later would be best. I will let you know. Now, you should call someone. Get you home.” Matt felt his stomach clench and then fall to somewhere near his knees. His face must’ve shown what he was feeling despite any attempt to keep it inside because Vladimir made a curious noise in the back of his throat. Matt sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “My friends don’t approve of my night time activities.”

“And they would not come to take you home?” Vladimir didn’t seem to believe what he was saying, if the dry tone of his voice was anything to go by.

He shrugged. “He hasn’t spoken to me since our practice dissolved. I - I don’t have anyone else outside Foggy and Karen that isn’t an insane ex or a morally questionable vigilante with an even bigger weapon fetish than even you have.” Matt was impressed with himself; his speech wasn’t nearly as slurred as his blood-alcohol content would suggest and he only stuttered over his words once in a fit of heartache.

“We can not have that, then,” the Russian said (more to himself than to Matt) and hoisted Matt up to his feet and lead him home. Perhaps Matt should have worried about exactly what ‘we can not have’ but his mind was much too occupied with how comfortable he was despite the awkward hold Vladimir was keeping him in; or how _nice_ he smelled.

_Well damn_ , Matt thought to himself before he felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably from the accompanying nausea his previous thought brought on. The further along the unlikely duo walked, the more Matt felt his coherency go down the drain. “You’re a terrible influence,” he complained even as he was led to the door of his apartment building. “What? Didn’t stalk me enough to remember which door leads to my apartment?” he taunted while trying to jab his companion in the ribs.

Vladimir just hummed in response before he maneuvered Matt so that he was leaning against the wall for a moment before the tell-tale sound of the slightly squeaky main entrance door. _Oh_ , he thought with a shake of his head. _He needed to open the door_. It was with this thought that Matt realized he had consumed entirely too much alcohol since he couldn’t remember that there were two doors to go through.

“Where do you keep Aspirin?” Vladimir asked.

“The cabinet to the left above my kitchen sink,” he answered while wondering when exactly they had gotten inside. He decided it would be best not to ask since he wasn’t keen on being made fun of. Instead, he allowed himself to be led to his bedroom where he was forced to sit down and a soft pair of pants and a shirt were deposited into his hands. “Are you going through my closet?” he asked.

“ _Da_. You need sleep. Best not to sleep in work clothes.”

“You have a point,” he conceded with a huff while he tugged his tie loose and tossed it onto his bedside table.

The air shifted as Vladimir stopped in front of him and placed two Aspirin in his hand before commanding him to drink from a glass of water. He wanted to complain about another invasion of privacy but the cool water felt good and he knew it was a moot point anyway. “Thanks,” he said before he realized Vladimir was at his bedroom door. “You’re leaving?”

“I have things to do and people to threaten.” Vladimir answered. There was no waver in his pulse so Matt knew he wasn’t lying. It was a little discouraging since he was in no shape to stop the Russian from doing anything wrong. “Relax, _mudak_ , I can feel your unease from here. Is nothing bad.”

“That isn’t as reassuring as you think,” Matt snarked even as he crawled under his sheets and placed his tinted glasses up with his tie. “Just don’t get caught,” he warned with a yawn.

“Get some rest, _d'yavol,_ ” Vladimir said while he exited Matt’s bedroom and then a few moments later, left his apartment entirely.

It seemed as if only a few minutes had gone by before Matt was awoken from his impromptu nap by his phone ringing with a tone that hadn’t gone off in weeks.

_FOGGY. FOGGY. FOGGY._ Matt sat up, startled, and hurried to answer the phone before it went to voicemail. “Hey ya, Foggy,” he answered, trying not to sound like he had been asleep in the middle of the afternoon.

“Why is there a scary Russian looking at me like I owe him something?” Foggy asked, his voice strained with what sounded like anxiety and nerves.

_Well shit._ “I can explain?” It was a lie. He had no idea how Vladimir had managed to find where Foggy lived or why he would go after his old partner. He was going to find out though, one way or the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a terrible person - I've been busy but excuses are lame and no one wants to hear them. But hopefully I'll be able to keep on a more timely updating schedule (as per my New Year's Resolution) 
> 
> Also Russian to English translation:  
> govnyuk - shithead  
> mudak - asshole  
> sukin syn - son of a bitch  
> nyet - no  
> da - yes  
> d’yavol - devil  
> Now, I'm not bilingual therefore I use Google Translate for the little bit of Russian I use. If I mess anything up, please let me know and I'll fix it. I know translate features aren't always accurate especially when it's not a verb.


End file.
